Ghostflame (The Dragon's Scion Book 2)

by Alex Raizman

  Eupheme slapped her hard across the face. When Tythel blinked in confusion at the sudden, sharp pain, she realized she was on her back, facing upwards to the suddenly dark sky above. Stars were dotting the narrow stretch of sky she could see. I passed out. Tythel thought, blinking groggily. “Tythel, you have to get up. We have to get you somewhere safe.” Eupheme waved the splinted wrist in front of her face. “I can’t carry you. Tellias’ armor has no power. You have to get up.”

  How does she know Tellias’ armor isn’t powered? How long was I out? Tythel nodded, trying to rise to her feet. Gingerly she leaned her arm over Eupheme’s shoulder, trying not to put too much weight on the injured woman. “Others…” Tythel gasped in pain from the effort of that word.

  She thanked the light Eupheme understood her meaning. “They Got free of the cave. They made contact. We’re thirty leagues from them, your highness. We’ll discuss what we do next later.”

  That was what Tythel needed to hear. She let Eupheme lead her to a nearby cave. There was some scent in here, something about this cave, that Tythel found oddly familiar. Her brain was too addled to place it. It will wait until morning, Tythel told herself, her thoughts full of cobwebs and fluff.

  “We’re here,” Eupheme said. “You can rest now.”

  Tythel nodded and nearly drug Eupheme to the ground as she collapsed into an almost dreamless sleep. She did have one dream, an oddly vague one. Eupheme was asleep against a wall, and Tellias was snoring in his armor at the entrance. Karjon stood over them, looking at her in confusion. Tythel wanted to reach out to him, to ask him for help, but she was too tired, even in her dream.

  She didn’t wake again until mid-morning. Eupheme and Tellias were still asleep. Her throat was as sore as the time she’d caught a throat infection that had forced Karjon to raid a village for medication, but nowhere near the bloody rawness it had been the night before.

  Tythel stepped into the sun and stretched, then paused in shock as she saw what waited outside the cave. Massive claw marks. She traced her fingers over them. They were just the right size to belong to the aeromane. It returned, Tythel thought in confusion. If the aeromane had come along while they were asleep, it should have eaten them. Instead, it seemed that it stalked up to the entrance of the cave, before taking to the sky again.

  It was a mystery for later. For now, she decided to soak in the knowledge she’d survived Alohym, Skimmer, and aeromane all in one day. The resistance lived, and the fight would continue.

  She let Eupheme and Tellias sleep for a while longer. They’d earned the sleep, and she’d earned a chance to bask in the sun.

  She’d earned a moment of peace.

  Chapter 15

  “Duke de’Monchy,” Armin said, as firmly as he dared to a member of the nobility. “I understand the urgency to leave this tunnel. However, we’ve heard from Eupheme. There’s an aeromane out there.”

  Armin folded his arms to hide the way his hands clenched in frustration. Breaching the plateau had happened just a few minutes before Eupheme’s song came through. Armin and his fellow lumcasters found themselves trying to hold an entire army from trying to pour out into the fresh air. To make matters worse, Armin wanted to do exactly that. He’d been starting to fear that they’d remained trapped under here forever, slowly dying of asphyxiation, never realizing they had miscalculated and were just tunneling deeper into the earth.

  “You think a beast is going to attack an army?” The Duke asked incredulously. “Surely you jest, Master Armin.”

  “I wish I was. I’ve studied the creatures, milord. Aeromanes have, throughout history, risked attacks on armies. They can get out of bow range quickly enough after grabbing prey.”

  “We don’t rely on bows anymore,” Duchess de’Monchy was less dismissive than her husband, but no less insistent. “Surely arcwands could slay the beast if bows once worked.”

  “They absolutely could, you ladyship,” Genevia interjected, putting the stately grace that had come with age behind her words. She fixed the Duchess with her three eyed gaze, and Armin wanted to cheer in thanks. Genevia’s gaze was unnerving as the blackest reaches of the Shadow, but when it was employed against someone else Armin appreciated it. “What’s less certain is, in the dark, we’ll be able to slay it before it manages to kill any of our men.”

  The Duke and Duchess shared a look, and Duke de’Monchy sighed. “Very well. What word, then? Is the princess alright? And the others?”

  Armin nodded. “They are well, milord. They are also thirty leagues from here. It might be wisest to meet them at the rendezvous.”

  “Impossible,” the Duke said with a scowl. “Tellias in that arcplate could cover that distance in a single day. How did the princess and her umbrist keep pace?”

  “By riding some new Alohym creation,” Armin said grimly. “They’re called Skimmers. They can fly faster than the Alohym’s vessels. Shorter range, most likely, but they’re smaller and more agile and…”

  “And the perfect flathing scouts,” Lord Devos spat the words. “Where did the Alohym get the flathing things?”

  “From a distant star,” a voice said.

  Everyone turned to look at the speaker. Ossman. Armin winced at his voice. Ever since the incident at the mage tower, Ossman had been…different. Prone to unusual outbursts like that. He was normal the overwhelming majority of the time, and then would say something like that. “What do you mean?” Adenot asked, his voice gentle. Armin resisted the urge to shoot the other Lumcaster a glare. Adenot meant well, Armin was sure, but ever since learning what had happened to Ossman, Adenot had treated him more like an experiment than a person.

  Ossman frowned in thought and shrugged sheepishly. A red flush began to creep up his neck. “I don’t know. Just an idle thought, I guess?”

  Adenot took out a piece of parchment and began to scribble on it, nodding to himself as he did. Armin wanted to go over, give Ossman some words of reassurance, but what could he say? “I know the light addled your mind, but it’s okay, you’re giving my colleagues some very useful data?”

  Somehow, Armin doubted that would do much to make Ossman feel any better.

  “Lord Devos raises an excellent point,” the Duke said, mercifully pulling attention off Ossman. “These things…how do we handle scouts that fly that quickly?”

  “There is good news there, milord,” Armin said, glad to keep the conversation off of Ossman. “Though they fly like ships, Eupheme confirmed they can be felled like animals. If we see them, I suggest our best course of action is to fire every arcwand we have to bring them down before they can report back to their masters. She said they didn’t have any songstones that she could see, so they’d have to report in person.”

  “That’s something at least. How long do we have to wait here, Master Armin?”

  I shouldn’t be in charge! Armin wanted to shout. I didn’t even finish my apprenticeship! Genevia is eldest. Or Adenot. Flath it, even Clarcia is more equipped to lead a group of Lumcasters. I’m an ambulatory power source, I’m useless. Stop treating me like I’m in charge. “Until dawn, milord,” Armin said out loud. “With sunlight, we’ll be able to see it coming – if it’s still even in the area.”

  The Duke nodded and turned to leave, the Duchess and Lord Devos following. Of the noble council, only Lady von Baggett, who had been silent up until then, remained.

  “What of Tellias?” she asked Armin, her voice low and urgent. “Is he well?”

  Armin nodded. “His Arcplate ran out of light. It was one of the first pieces I converted, and I hadn’t gotten a chance to fix the leakage problem.” It took Armin a moment to remember the relation. Tellias was Lady von Baggett’s second cousin on her mother’s side. She’d been the one to vouch for his allegiance.

  The tension in her shoulders faded. “And he’s with the Princess?” she asked. This question was still urgent, but not as fearful.

  Being treated like a full Lumcaster had its privileges. Technically all full Lumcasters were minor nobi
lity, although their titles could not be inherited. Still, it meant nobles spoke more freely around to more freely around him now. In those contexts, Lady Von Baggett had made no bones about her intention to see her cousin the next Prince Consort. Tythel being stranded with that pompous git would only be good for Lady von Baggett’s plans. “Yes,” Armin answered honestly, fighting a scowl at the calculating smile on Von Baggett’s face. There will have to be a Prince Consort. Tythel will need an heir.

  It still rankled him to see Lady von Baggett so eager.

  She left after getting her answers, tapping her chin in thought. Armin rolled his eyes at her back.

  “You look like you just swallowed a whole vase of rotflies,” Ossman said quietly.

  Armin didn’t bother hiding the grimace this time. “Genevia, would you mind helping Adenot check himself for any new mutations? I know he’s eager to find out if he finally got one, and I think a professional eye would be useful.”

  If getting commands from a Lumcaster that had never graduated bothered either Genevia or Adenot, it didn’t show. Armin secretly suspected they wanted command as much as he did. The other two Lumcasters left, leaving Ossman and Armin relatively alone. “It showed that much?” Armin asked.

  “A blind Underfolk could see it at noon,” Ossman said with a grin.

  “Tythel’s not a pawn in someone’s marriage game,” Armin groused. “We should at least see if we’re going to win and reclaim the kingdom before we start picking out a husband for her. And she should get some say in it.”

  Ossman chuckled. “Armin. Do you honestly believe anyone on Alith could force Tythel into a marriage she didn’t wish for?” He emphasized her name, to show exactly how absurd he found the concept.

  “No, I just…flath it. It bothers me.”

  Ossman’s grin only widened. “Of course it does. I’m surprised it took this long for you admit it does.”

  Armin frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

  Ossman gave him a look of wide-eye incredulity and sighed. “Never mind. Just don’t forget that Tythel has the lineage of an entire kingdom to think about – and with how much she knows about history, she probably understands that better than we do.” Ossman stood up, brushing off his pants. “I’m going to see if Lord Devos needs my help.”

  Armin watched the larger man go, wishing he could understand what that meant.

  ***

  Armin awoke to sunlight streaming through the hole to the outside world. He could get a good view of the bottom of the canyon now, better than it ever had been from atop the plateau. It was more beautiful than he’d realized. The grass was green, unspoiled by hands of any of the sentient races of Alith, and the river was so clear that he could see the bottom of the riverbed where it wasn’t obscured by rapids. The trees that dotted the bottom had adapted to the limited light with multicolored leaves.

  Even more beautiful than that was the lack of an army Armin had been sure would be awaiting them. It seems the Alohym had assumed they were all dead – or didn’t have troops in the region they could mobilize in time. The latter is more likely, Armin thought as he got up, stretching the kinks out of his back. Rocks made for poor sleeping, and many of their supplies were still up top on the plateau. Including bedrolls.

  Can’t risk going back up there, he thought, cracking his neck and sighing in relief. He set off down the tunnel to give Duke Grephen de’Monchy the all clear.

  He didn’t have to go far. The Duke was awake and heading Armin’s way. “Lumcaster,” the duke said by way of greeting.

  Armin bowed his head. “Duke de’Monchy. I’m happy to report daylight has revealed no lurking monsters or hidden armies that I can see.”

  Grephen nodded and motioned for Armin to follow him back towards the entrance. “The princess and the others were carried several leagues by the Skimmers, I’m given to understand?”

  Armin nodded. “Before Tellias’ armor ran out of light, it reported he had travelled over thirty leagues. Without power, it’ll take them considerably longer for them to return. Carrying the armor shouldn’t slow them down – between splitting the weight and Tythel’s strength, I mean.”

  The Duke stared out over the valley, his lips moving quietly in thought. Armin didn’t need to try and read lips to follow the calculations. A league was about as far as a person could walk in an hour. They were looking at, best-case scenario, three days for them to be able to reach the plateau – and that was assuming they were all uninjured and able to endure three consecutive days of walking. “We’ll need to have them meet us at the rendezvous,” the Duke said regretfully

  Armin’s lips thinned, but he nodded in agreement. A small part of Armin still held enough wonder to be amazing that a Duke was discussing matters of strategy with him. “I’ll take Ossman and a small group of Abyssals to meet her, to make sure we don’t leave her or the Baron unguarded.”

  “What about Eupheme?” the Duke asked, raising an eyebrow at Armin.

  Armin snorted. “What about Eupheme?” he repeated. “Begging your pardon, but if she heard me suggesting she needed a bodyguard, she’d probably stab me in the face until I admitted she didn’t need a guardian. Then she’d remind me her job was to guard the princess. Then she’d stab me in the face again.”

  The Duke gave Armin a small smile. “Why the last stab?”

  “Because she’d want to make sure I got the point.” Armin returned the smile, although it faded quickly. “I’m worried about her as well, your Grace. She’s no more immortal than any of the rest of us. If they head towards us, we can catch them in a day and a half, two at most.”

  “That would be the case…but you’re not going to meet them.”

  Armin stiffened. “Begging your pardon, your Grace?”

  “Master Armin, we lost many in the attack yesterday. We’re not quite as bad as we were before Rephylon’s defeat, but we’re stretched thin. To make matters worse, most of these men are injured – and all of them are demoralized. We’re going to lose even more to desertion as we travel, I’m sure of it.”

  “I understand that, my lord, but I don’t understand…”

  Armin found himself cut off. “On top of that, our funds are nearly depleted. I, Tellias, Lady Von Baggett, Lord Devos, the others…we’ve emptied our coffers to support the resistance. There’s little left. The treasures we were able to plunder from Hallith will help some, but after those are depleted we will have to resort to selling weapons – which we cannot afford. I need you to take a small group and secure additional funding.”

  “The lair of the dragon Tythel spoke of. Grejax, the Necromancer Drake.”

  Duke de’Monchy nodded. “It’s a risk we have to take.”

  “I won’t argue that,” Armin said. “But wouldn’t it make more sense to take the princess with us? Our chances of success when dealing with a dragon’s lair go up dramatically having a dragon with us.”

  “It would make more sense, if she was still here. However, time is running short. We cannot wait for their return. If there’s any treasure to be had there, it will serve us well – but if it takes too long to arrive, we’ll come back to a starving army.” the Duke’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Or maybe we won’t. Starving armies rarely stay together under the best of times, and these are hardly good times. More likely the army we have will vanish, and we’ll be left with a few die-hards that cling to the resistance because their personal grudges with the Alohym outweigh their common sense.

  Armin winced. He suspected that last line was a barb directed at Tythel. He didn’t bother trying to respond to that. Tythel had done little to pretend the Resistance as a whole was anything other a means to an end for her. Armin thought that Eupheme, Ossman, and himself meant more than that to her at this point, but that was unlikely to be what Duke de’Monchy was concerned about. “And if there’s no hoard to be found?” Armin asked.

  The Duke sighed, and for a moment, there in the sunlight, Armin could see every line in the man’s face. He’d been a noble un
der Tythel’s grandparents. He’d served the Kingdom for more than twice as long as Armin had been alive. It was easy to forget how old he was. “Then gather what riches you can plunder, and what writing you need to decode those notes. The Vacuity Engine still remains our best hope for victory.”